The next few days were a blur of packing and profound confusion for Ichigo.
While Masaki hummed tunes and packed suitcases with summer clothes, Ichigo used his small, agile body to sprint across Karakura Town.
He had to know.
He had to see what else the "Old Man" had scribbled away with his cosmic pen.
He ran to the Mashiba district first.
He looked for a small, dusty house where a boy with silver hair and glasses should be living with his grandfather.
"Uryū?"
He whispered, standing before an empty lot. There was no Ishida house.
No hospital owned by Ryūken Ishida. It was as if the Quincy bloodline had never touched this soil.
He checked the local middle school records.
Yasutora Sado? Not found. Orihime Inoue? Not found. Even the site of the Urahara Shop, the place that had been his second home and his training ground, was nothing but a mundane laundromat.
There was no Kisuke Urahara wearing a bucket hat. No Yoruichi Shihōin prowling the fences as a black cat.
The spiritual weight of the town felt... light. Normal.
Ichigo sat on a swing in the park, his small hands gripping the cold chains.
He felt a pang of loneliness that cut deeper than any blade. His friends were gone.
His mentors were ghosts in a memory that no longer belonged to this timeline.
"Stan Lee... what did you do?"
Ichigo muttered, looking up at the sky.
He realized then that this wasn't just a "fix." It was a complete rewrite.
Stan Lee hadn't just saved his world; he had merged it with his own "comic universe."
The rules had changed. The players had been moved across the global chessboard.
But as he felt the warmth of the sun on his face—a sun that wouldn't have existed if Yhwach had succeeded—he sighed.
"It's better than it being destroyed,"
He admitted.
"At least here, people are breathing."
Inside the Kurosaki living room, Ichigo stared at a framed photograph on the mantelpiece.
In his old life, this man was a monster draped in shadows and blood.
In this photo, "Juha Bach" looked like a man who owned half of Manhattan.
He wore a tailored navy suit that probably cost more than Isshin's clinic.
His long, black hair was neatly groomed, and his mustache was trimmed with military precision.
He sat in a high-backed leather chair, a glass of expensive-looking amber liquid in one hand.
He didn't look like a god of destruction; he looked like an old billionaire, a tycoon searching for a worthy heir to his empire.
"He looks so serious, doesn't he?"
Masaki said, coming up behind Ichigo and ruffling his orange hair.
"But don't let that fool you. He cried when Yuzu and Karin were born. He sent a whole cargo plane of baby clothes."
Ichigo shivered. Yhwach... crying over baby clothes? The image was so wrong it made his head spin.
"Is he... dangerous, Mom?"
Ichigo asked, trying to sound like a curious child.
Masaki smiled, though there was a small spark of Quincy pride in her eyes.
"He is a very powerful man, Ichigo. He runs a big company called 'Wandenreich Enterprises' in America. People fear him because he is smart and rich, but to you, he is just Grandpa Juha."
Isshin walked by, carrying a stack of boxes.
He made a face at the photo.
"A 'powerful man' who still hasn't forgiven me for 'stealing' his daughter. Get ready, Ichigo. America is a loud place, and your grandfather is the loudest thing in it."
The flight to New York was long, but for Ichigo, it was a tactical briefing.
He spent the hours meditating, feeling the new powers Stan Lee had gifted him.
He could feel the Adamantium laced into his bones, making his small frame feel incredibly dense and sturdy.
He could feel the Magnetism humming in his fingertips, reacting to the metal of the airplane.
Most importantly, he practiced the Mystic Arts in his mind.
He didn't need a wand or a chant.
He just needed to shape the energy.
By the time the plane touched down at JFK International Airport, Ichigo felt like a loaded spring, ready to pop.
As they walked through the terminal, the sheer scale of the city hit him.
It wasn't just the height of the buildings; it was the energy. The air felt thick with potential.
"There they are!"
Masaki waved excitedly.
Ichigo followed her gaze and froze.
Standing near the exit was a line of men that would have terrified any normal person.
They weren't just bodyguards. They were the Sternritter.
But they weren't wearing the white military cloaks of the Quincy army.
They were dressed in stunning, expensive white suits with silk ties.
At the front stood a man with long blond hair and a calm, cold expression.
Jugram Haschwalth….
The man who had been Yhwach's right hand, the Grandmaster of the Sternritter.
Beside him stood a tall, dark-skinned man with an eye patch—Shunsui Kyōraku?
No, Ichigo blinked. It was Robert Accutrone, looking sharp and professional.
"Welcome home, Lady Masaki,"
Haschwalth said, bowing deeply.
His voice was smooth and formal.
He turned his gaze to Ichigo, and for a second, a flicker of recognition—or perhaps calculation—crossed his eyes.
"And you must be young Master Ichigo. His Majesty has been expecting you."
"His Majesty?"
Ichigo repeated, his voice flat.
"A family nickname!"
Masaki laughed nervously, hitting Ichigo on the shoulder.
"He's so dramatic."
Haschwalth didn't smile. He stepped aside and gestured toward the curb.
Waiting there was a fleet of three massive, snow-white stretch limousines.
They weren't just cars; they were armored fortresses on wheels, polished so brightly they reflected the New York skyline like mirrors.
"Please,"
Haschwalth said, opening the door to the lead limo.
"The Master is waiting at the penthouse. We have much to discuss regarding your... education."
As the limo glided through the streets of Queens toward Manhattan, Ichigo looked out the tinted window.
He saw a billboard for Stark Industries and another for Oscorp.
He saw a blur of red and blue swinging between two buildings in the distance—something far too fast to be a bird.
He leaned back into the plush leather seat.
His family was happy. His mother was alive. His father was complaining about the legroom.
His sisters were pressing their faces against the glass, pointing at the skyscrapers.
Everything was different. The war he had fought was gone, replaced by a new, strange reality where his greatest enemy was now his benefactor.
'I'm the Agent now,'
Ichigo thought. He looked at his small hands again.
'I have the power of the Phoenix, the mind of a Sorcerer, and an indestructible body. If Stan Lee wants "interesting," I'll give it to him. But I'm doing it my way.'
He watched as the limo pulled up to a massive black skyscraper in the heart of the city.
At the very top, the word WANDENREICH glowed in white neon.
"We're here,"
Masaki said, her voice full of excitement.
Ichigo stepped out of the car. The wind whipped his orange hair. He could feel the eyes of the Sternritter on him, testing him.
He could feel the presence of the man at the top of the tower—a presence that felt like a mountain of gold and shadow.
He took a deep breath.
"Alright, Grandpa,"
Ichigo whispered, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Let's see what kind of world you've built."